Because once I was an ocean
and now I am a mother,
because every single moment
is integral to ever after,
I give myself to this snowy hour
skiing into the woods with my daughter
and know that no matter how brief a day,
an hour lasts forever.
Posts Tagged ‘skiing’
The Outing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, daughter, skiing, time on December 6, 2025| 2 Comments »
Why I Go Nordic Skiing in the Woods
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged embodiment, losing the self, skiing, winter on February 2, 2025| 4 Comments »
Because the world.
And then, with one step,
I slide into snow-mind
in which I am glide,
sun-bright and crystalline,
field-vast and drift-found,
a boundaryless being
of sparkling immensity
moving inside a glittering realm,
and whoever else I might be
in the small world of rooms
and stoplights and
screens and keys is not lost
exactly, but is too little here
to not see beyond as I become
soft meadow, receiver
of birdsong, inhaler
of evergreen, an ecstatic
point in infinite space
sliding from grace
to ever expanding grace.
Blustery
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breath, friendship, laughter, skiing, wind on March 3, 2024| 4 Comments »
for Corinne
Into the wind, the whipping
wind, the fierce, tempestuous,
mighty wind, we skied
as it pushed us and
bent us and slapped us
in a language made wholly
of howl—how alive we were,
laughing into the gale,
taking the storm into our lungs,
as if our breath could learn
its syntax, translate
its tongues of gust and squall
into wild, untamable mirth.
This is how we carried the storm
home in our bloodstream.
This is how, even now,
I feel it in my lips,
an uncontrollable, reckless smile.
Skiing in the Dark
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, identity, skiing on January 13, 2024| 8 Comments »
Though you know by heart
this valley with its river,
its sheer red walls,
its ragged peaks,
in this moment all you see
is the dull glow of snow
a few feet in front of you
and dim shadows almost
suggesting the track,
and the whole world shrinks
to lungs and legs and stroke
and glide and it feels so good
to be outside, to move
through night guided more
by ears and less by eyes,
to slide through the world
a foot at a time and whoever
you were before this,
that’s not who you are now,
sweet creature of heartbeat,
stranger to the next moment.
Skiing into the Storm
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chaos, instability, skiing, wind, winter on January 8, 2024| 10 Comments »
I love the days when it feels right
not to turn from the storm
but to move deeper in,
when the body doesn’t shy
from the cold and wind,
when the smile arrives
as the storm magnifies
and a whoop rises from the lungs
like a fierce and hardy bird.
What is it in us that feels more alive
in these moments?
Is it the part that rhymes
with instability,
the untamable part
that knows chaos, too,
is holy? And the gusts
swirl and the chill bites
and the smile
incredibly widens.
Paradise Shared
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, Christie Aschwanden, connection, skiing on December 18, 2023| 3 Comments »
And if we have touched paradise,
let’s share it the way Christie did today
when she skied me to the edge
of the snow deep cliff and we gazed out
at the world below. I know how shared struggle
can become connective glue.
But beauty, too, adheres us—
invites us to become like wings,
knowing it takes two to fly.
While Skiing at Priest Lake, I Realize
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, life, miracle, present, skiing on January 28, 2023| 6 Comments »
And here is the miracle—
to find in grief not only sorrow
but a ravenous gratefulness for life,
to find in loss not only emptiness
but an unimaginable abundance.
It doesn’t happen in a day,
no, not even in a year,
but who said miracles
need be instantaneous.
Today I skied through a veil of trees
and forgot for a moment
anything but trees, but skis, but lungs.
I want to tell you in that moment,
there was no one to remember,
there was no one to look ahead,
there was no one except the human
who knew to place the next ski in front
of the other, knew to trust
the ragged saw of her breath,
knew that life is only as beautiful
as death.
Starlings in Winter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, friendship, skiing, starlings, winter on January 22, 2023| 4 Comments »
for Christie
Deep in the snowy woods,
we startle at the sound
of starlings as they braid
above the branches.
How often do I miss
the song of the moment?
But today, beside you
I could not miss
the sweet shushing of skis,
the sacred huff of breath,
the lyric of our laughter
and the strong refrain of my heart
as it wheeled like a starling,
a wild and soaring thing
drawn to fly with others,
ready to sing for no reason
except the joy of singing.
Contact Joy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged joy, marriage, skiing, work on April 1, 2022| 10 Comments »
He cleans the base of the skis
with a fine, steel brush to remove
the old wax, his body swaying
above the ski, tip to tail, tip to tail,
so the micro hairs on the base
will lay down in the direction of travel
on snow. A fine copper brush
cleans it more. His movements
are quick, precise, a dance
that now comes naturally.
The only music is the sound
of the brushes, the sound
of his breath. There is no
laughter, no joking,
not even a smile, but
sometimes on winter nights
I walk toward the light
in the garage and watch
his body intent on its work,
and I feel the quiet joy
he finds in preparation
and the work of foundation,
and his joy seeps into me,
soft as the darkness
that holds the garage,
deep as the space
that holds us all.
Still Learning What It Might Mean
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged learning, poem, poetry, skiing, wax on January 12, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Dave drips the hot blue wax onto the ski
and tells me how it will help the ski meet the snow.
“The cold snow is sharp,” he says, “and aggressive.”
Today’s wax will harden the base of the ski.
I think of the world and all its sharpnesses,
all its aggressions. We humans
are not so unlike the snow. I’ve been fooled
so often. Perhaps my soul needs blue wax.
No, I think, what the soul really needs
is more like the scraper he pulls out,
and the brushes of copper, horsehair, and nylon.
What the soul really needs is a scouring.
He explains that the scouring allows
the cuts in the structure to be exposed
so that the skis don’t suction to the snow.
Is that what all these little cuts are for in me?
To keep me from getting stuck? Later,
as I skate in the race and feel my ski glide
across what is cold, I thank Dave
with my visible breath.
There are so many ways to relearn
how it is we meet the world. Today,
the lesson is a ski, a scraper, some wax,
a man with an iron, and acres and acres of snow.
Riding the Chairlift
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, poem, poetry, pretend, skiing, snow on March 3, 2019| Leave a Comment »
By then, the blizzard was strong enough
that we couldn’t see past the chair in front of us—
all was white oblivion. And though I knew
the world, though obscured, was still there,
part of me trusted the illusion.
It reminded me of when we were kids
and at slumber parties we’d play the game
“stiff as a board, light as a feather,” in which
one girl would lie in the center of a circle,
and another would tell the spooky story
of how the supine girl had died, and how, on her death,
her body was said to be “stiff as a board, light
as a feather,” and the rest of us would slip two fingers
beneath her and carry her about the room.
I knew, of course, that my 100-pound friends
were not truly feather light, but we played the game
over and over and swore it was true. There is some thrill
in sharing a myth that defies common sense.
And so today, when I say to my daughter
that we are entering a hidden realm through a veil
and she disagrees, I am shocked how disappointed
I am when she doesn’t share the game. In that instant,
the snow is just snow, the day just a day.
There is a joy here, too, in calling things as they are.
A woman. A girl. A storm. A chairlift traveling through.
One Friendship
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, poem, poetry, skiing, snow on February 16, 2019| Leave a Comment »
for Corinne
skiing into the blizzard
finding laughter in gusts and drifts
skiing out into sunshine
One Double Black Diamond
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, self-doubt, skiing, snow on January 20, 2019| Leave a Comment »
snow so deep, so soft
even the me who thinks she’s not good enough
laughs, whoops, falls, rises
Easier with a Friend
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bravery, courage, friendship, poem, poetry, skiing, terza rima sonnet on February 19, 2018| 4 Comments »
for Corinne, skate skier extraordinaire
The meadow was a violent scourge of white,
and still we chose to leave our cars and ski.
The wind and blowing snow obscured our sight,
lashed through our hats and stole our breath, but we
leaned into it and laughed, as if the storm
were nothing more than an excuse to be
more brave, more willing to eschew what’s warm
so we might face our fear, find joy in risk—
and sure enough, I felt myself transform
from nervousness to animated bliss—
and we for hours skied amidst the gusts
and for that time, knew nothing more than this:
to meet the crazy storm. When scared, to thrust
ourselves into the howling world. And trust.
Going Skiing with Anna Akhmatova
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anna akhmatova, friendship, poem, poetry, silence, skiing on February 4, 2018| 2 Comments »
with a line from “Snow” by Anna Akhmatova
The spruce boughs are empty
of snow as we ski up the old
railroad grade. And when we arrive
at the top, the sky opens up,
an enchantment of blue.
I want to ask her how it felt
to be caged, to be clipped,
to be silenced. But she looks
at me as if to say the mood
is too tender for talk. And so
we let the words disappear
like the snow that is not falling,
and we move together
as good friends do, letting
one lead, and then the other.
One Unselving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, skiing, snow on February 3, 2016| 2 Comments »
It’s Been Growing In Me, This Feeling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, love, poem, poetry, skiing on December 12, 2013| 3 Comments »
Today forgiveness is like the tracks
in the snow at the park where the skis
might follow, and the following is easy.
There are many other ways that one
might go, but it seems simple to move
through the trees in these slots that
were made for people like me who
are afraid of getting hurt. I’ve been injured
recently. I imagine painful things. Though the path,
it hosts no mountain lions, no volcanoes,
no dragons, no skunks, no traps.
I have to laugh at how straightforward it is
to forgive. You do nothing and it arrives.
And around the corner, it’s still there.
Of course it happens in its own time.
How pure the impulse to want
to share its grace. So much freedom!
Isn’t it ironic, what now feels safe.
But we cannot lead a horse to water
nor a friend to mercy nor clemency.
God, the sun is incredible here, the way
it sifts through the empty trees, the way
it catches in expanses of snow rife with facets
made by transitioning warm to cold to warm to cold.
It’s warm. We all transition. There was a time when
I was so full of anger I didn’t even know that forgiveness
was part of the landscape. And today,
it is effortless—so effortless I nearly didn’t name it
as I shifted my weight from one ski to the other
in grooves I didn’t need to reinvent, my poles
moving almost of their own accord, a rhythm
not so unlike the beating of your heart, my heart.
Even Accounting for Surface Friction
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gravity, happiness, laughing at the self, poems, poetry, skiing, surrender on March 5, 2012| 3 Comments »
Gravity, I adored you today,
the way you led me from the top of the mountain
to lower down. The clear rush of it all,
the thrill of velocity, the giving in
to forces greater than ourselves
and learning there to play.
What a sweet oxymoron,
the more mass we have, the faster
we go, and with this heart so weighted
I was surely more lickety-split
than ever before, and felt it, too,
the shocking lightness,
the reminder that all of us,
all of us are in it together,
at the mercy of this draw,
this tug, this gravity that brings us
down, down, down, wheeeeeeee down
humbled and even laughing.
The Skate Skier Talks to the Coyote Willows
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged focus, poem, skiing, willows on November 27, 2011| 2 Comments »
You will remember how two weeks ago
I skied into you, right through the tall center
of your many red stems. How I fell.
I was transfixed by you at the base of the hill.
I forgot everything but willow. But
today I remember to train my eye
to corduroy snow, to follow its parallel
grooves through the gulley.
See how I slide up the other side with no effort.
It is not that I did not notice you,
your whispers, your slight bend
in the almost breeze, your tips waving
like sirens, your long slendernesses,
how easily you rise from snow toward sky.
I noticed and then curled my body into the curve,
looked ahead, became drift, became wind, became
current and passed you, slipping myself into
the next moment which is always, always passing.
Ode to the Willows at the Bottom of the Hill
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged attention, out of control, poem, skiing on November 17, 2011| 4 Comments »
Let’s say the skier
is out of control
as she careens down the hill
and let’s say that she sees
the tall red willows
from a distance
and thinks to herself
I am not going to hit
those willows.
Tilted and lurching
she is too loudly laughing,
afraid of the speed
and equally thrilled with it,
gripped with conviction
that she is not is not
is not going to hit
those willows, those red willows,
those tall red willows
those willows the only
thing that she sees
as she skis right into
the tallest of the tall red willows
at the base of the hill
those willows
she gave
all her attention.